


I've got troubles enough

by ashen_key



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Comment Fic, Communication, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Misunderstanding, Pre-Canon, Prompt Fic, Talking, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-08
Updated: 2012-08-08
Packaged: 2017-11-11 17:16:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/480946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashen_key/pseuds/ashen_key
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do me a favour and don't punch anyone else.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've got troubles enough

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts), [SugarFey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarFey/gifts).



> Written for the [Clint Barton/Natsha Romanoff Promptathon](http://be-compromised.livejournal.com/60569.html). Initially inspired by the prompt, _Some male SHIELD agents say insulting things about Natasha in Clint's presence. They never make that mistake again._ and then the idea was crystallized by the following prompt: 
> 
>  
> 
> _So don't work your stuff  
>  because I've got troubles enough;  
> no don't pick on me  
> when one act of kindness could be ... deathly. _

Koskinen's expression could have been set for a test. _Can you find, and describe, the emotions in this face? Fifty-word limit, failure will result in fifty laps of the academy's staircases in bare feet._

(Natasha's school had been odd, and she'd never agreed with Mondays.) 

“What?” Natasha said, absently inspecting her chair for signs of tampering. 

“Um,” said Kos. 

“Um. Not helpful.” Chair seemed secure, so she sat down. 

“...Fuck it,” Kos said. “Okay. Saturday night drinks, Weller started trash talking, he said some awful things about you, and Barton decked him.” 

Natasha blinked. 

“Yeah,” Kos said. 

“I'm going to kill him,” Natasha said finally, and she'd been working with Kos for eleven months, so the woman just offered a wry smile. 

Natasha slid her cell out of her handbag and texted _you still in town? we need to talk_ to Clint. 

He was free for lunch. Good. She could work on the reports from Italy until then, and maybe work out why her stomach was twisting so unpleasantly. 

– On second thought, she was just going to concentrate on reports of possible Mafia-funded research into bio-enhanced weaponry. 

– – 

Natasha was on her second cup of jasmine tea by the time Clint strolled into the noodlehouse. She hoped this was not going to become a habit of theirs – her waiting for him in cafes and restaurants, her nerves stretched out like piano-wire by the time he graced her with his presence. 

Well, this time she wasn't worried that he was going to kill her (unlike Tokyo), and she really badly needed to pee, so _this time_ he could be greeted with a, “Hi, mind the table? I'll be right back,” as she picked up her handbag and went to the bathroom.

Clint deserved to have some confusion, after the epic spanner he'd thrown into the gears of the world she was trying to build. 

“Hi,” she said once she'd returned, sitting down carefully to avoid crushing her skirt.

“- Hi,” he said, and if her movements were careful, so was his voice. “How are you?”

“....Angry,” she decided. “At you.” 

Clint nodded, slowly, and then shook his head. “Huh?”

Natasha started to speak, then stopped before leaning over the table slightly. “You punched Weller.”

“Yeah,” he said, staring at her. “The guy was being jackass.” 

She blinked back at him; this was not running according to her mental script. But then, his punching Weller hadn't been a Clint-in-her-head approved action, either, and Clint had always thrown off her mental scripts. She should, logically, stop trying to make them. 

“Please explain?” 

“He was talking shit again,” Clint said, voice slow and expression bemused. “I've given him warnings. And he decided to be a jackass in my presence anyway. Because he's an idiot. So I decided to punch him. _Why_ are you pissed at me?”

“Because-”

“Hi, are you ready to order?” the waitress asked with professionally bright smile. 

Of course. 

Natasha put on a smile and glanced at Clint. “I am. Are you?” 

“...sure? Okay,” Clint said, and ordered. She followed, words nicely smooth, and her smile lasted until the waitress was on the move again. She looked back at Clint, and by then her anger had dulled, lay cooling and twisting in her stomach. 

“Because I heard that you punched him because of me,” she said at last. 

He still didn't get it, if his expression was anything to go by (and it normally was). “I didn't. Yeah, sure, he insulted you. But honestly, that was more of an excuse.” 

“Okay,” Natasha said, and she poured herself some more tea. That was more in line with the Clint she knew. That was not a gesture of...a gesture of...

That wasn't a gesture of anything, not overly solicitous care nor of ownership, and she as took a deep breath she could feel her chest loosen. Finally, she smiled at him. It was a tiny, lukewarm thing, but it was at least a smile. “I'm still kind of annoyed at the fall-out I have to deal with, though.” 

“- right, yes. Because you _heard_ of it...”

“Yeah,” she said, overly patient and slightly mocking with it. “Yeah, I heard that _you_ , who brought _me_ in, punched a guy who has been harassing _me_ after he insulted pretty, infamous little old _me_ in _your_ hearing...And that's the _nicest_ way they are going to spin it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” and Clint's tone was sheepish. “I can imagine what else they're gonna say. I didn't think of that. And, anyway, _I_ punched him...”

“Do me a favour and don't punch anyone else.” 

Now he looked insulted. “It's not exactly a habit.”

“Glad to hear it,” and he smiled at her tart tone. “So, now that _that_ is settled,” she continued, “how's training of the children going?”

“They're not children, they're ducklings. They are fluffy and adorable and useless. And they follow me about.” 

“To be fair, you do have a nice ass.” 

“I do,” he said, modestly. “Do you think they've imprinted?”

Natasha laughed almost silently, and let herself relax into the ease of their banter. She hadn't been joking about the fall-out of his decision to punch Weller from Requisitions, nor about her annoyance of having to deal with it. 

But Clint was still Clint, and their relationship remained the same, and for that, she could put aside her anger and just enjoy lunch with a friend.


End file.
